Silent Brother: A SAINW Prelude
by The Light of Reason
Summary: When Donatello is taken by a mysterious illness, he seeks a diagnosis. Donatello suddenly finds himself in a race against an enemy that destroys him from within as he tries to find a cure for his illness. How long can Donatello hide the truth from his family before the disease takes him? Donatello vows to do whatever it takes to protect his family from the sobering truth.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

The cold bites into my arms, legs, and feet, seeping up through the floor and in through the cracks in the wall. No matter how tightly I draw the blanket around my shoulders, the fingers of cold peel back the rough wool and settle on my skin. A single shaft of moonlight slices through the dark, narrow as a ruler, but it's something. At least I can _kind of_ see. In its soft milky glow, tiny particles of dust float and swirl, their speed picking up each time a breeze breaches the cracks in the walls. The walls are made of sturdy wooden boards, more than two decades old, and do good work of keeping most of the elements out. Only the wind whips at my face, the frost creeping gradually toward my fortified corner.

This corner of the shack has old blankets and some cardboard jammed together to block the cold, scraps from just over the small ridge outside my shelter. The junkyard is too far for me now; even if I could make it there, I could hardly drag anything back with me without collapsing.

So here I sit, among soggy cardboard panels, black plastic garbage bags, punctured on nails to hold them in place, and a pile of newspapers, which serve the dual purpose of materials to stuff the larger cracks in the wall and toilet paper. Even though I'm living in a dingy abandoned shed outside the Bronx, I still have a certain level of personal hygiene to maintain.

A chill seizes me as the wind rattles the walls with renewed fervor, trying to upend my shelter. Shell, that's cold! I pull the blanket up and over my head, hoping it will keep the chill out. Unfortunately, all this does is steal my breath. Morbidly I consider letting myself suffocate, if only to spite the shrieking wind that has it out for me, but eventually I lift the blanket from my face. The cold air floods my lungs and I choke as I pull the blanket snug over my skull.

How did I get here? Believe it or not, it was a choice. I came to this shack because I wanted to, although sometimes I question my motives. To think, _I'm _the so called "genius". The inventor. The brains. Good lot that's gotten me; bundled up and shivering in the middle of nowhere without food, water, or my family.

Enough of my griping. Here it is: I left them. I abandoned my family without a word of warning. They didn't know I was leaving until I was gone. I made certain of that, never saying too much or too little, maintaining my routine as best as I could even when I was vomiting from the pain of my headaches and barely able to pull myself out of bed in the morning. My sickness has taken a lot out of me, depleting my mental and physical energy, increasing my susceptibility to cold and causing me physical pain. My body simply can't handle the stress of a junkyard trip, or stand the cold. Cancer can do that to a turtle.

_Cancer_. The word sounds weird to me. Experimentally, I say the word aloud in a hoarse, unused voice. It crackles, pathetic sounding amid the roar of the wind outside, but it still manages to unsettle my stomach. It's such an ugly word. Cancer is the overpowering chemical scent of disinfectant, the sticky feeling of sweat beading on your skin, the numbing exhaustion that you feel when you've been awake less than an hour. It's a drain that sucks the energy from your body, the thoughts from your mind, and the colour from your vision. It's the pain that leaves you breathless and the faintness you feel on a rooftop patrol.

Maybe it was wrong of me to leave them. Maybe it was selfish of me, to abandon them and deny them a proper goodbye. But I do know one thing.

They're better off without me.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

It was the late afternoon when the headache hit him. As Donatello sat at his computer, bathed in the pale blue light of his computer monitor, the headache pulsed behind his eyelids. What began as a dull, rhythmic thud quickly progressed into a hammer-like, full-blown migraine. It beat at him until he couldn't see straight. There was nothing but the _THUMP THUMP THUMP _that beat at the center of his skull, pulsing in his sinuses, his eyes, his ears. His code melted into incoherent dribble before his eyes, the binary blurring on the computer screen. The pain forced his eyes closed, a hiss escaping from his clenched jaw.

'_Oh god, this is it. This is how I go.'_ He thought to himself, cradling his forehead with his fingertips. He pried his eyes open to look at his screen again, only to close them a second later as a wave of nausea swelled within him. Donatello spent another minute with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands holding his head steady before he chanced to open his eyes again. Fighting against the knife that continued to stab him rhythmically between the eyes, Donatello managed to look at the screen long enough to save his work and turn off the computer monitor. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he had been at work for five hours. It wasn't his longest stint, but a headache was understandable after that much screen time. Then again, he had never experienced one like _this _before.

_'There's some aspirin in the kitchen,' _he thought to himself, pushing out his work chair and standing slowly to avoid aggravating his stomach. A steady diet of pain killers and coffee had never failed him before; surly that would make the headache pass.

When Donatello reached the kitchen, he was relieved to find only Leo sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. His brother stared deep into the amber liquid with a look of stony concentration and Donatello could almost read his thoughts from the wrinkles on his forehead alone. He was frustrated with Raph again; there had been an argument about curfew last night that ended in a set of split knuckles. Raph took a swing last night and Leo ducked just in time, sending Raph fist-first into a pillar. Needless to say, the two had been silent to each other ever since, the tension stretching between them. Don was glad that he didn't have to deal with unspoken tension on top of a headache and appreciated the lucky break.

As Donatello clattered around the kitchen, Leo slowly came out of his trance. His white-knuckled grip on his teacup loosened and he observed Donatello as he rummaged around the cupboards for aspirin. Donatello shook two tablets into his palm and Leo raised his brows in surprise as he popped them into his mouth, taking his water like a chaser.

Leo glanced at the label on the bottle and remarked, "Extra Strength? Must be serious."

Donatello smiled weakly, his brow creased in discomfort. He massaged a temple as he set the cup in the sink, saying, "I've got a splitting headache out of nowhere. I think my skull is going to crack open any minute now."

"Maybe a nap will do you some good?" Leo suggested, testing the waters. He knew how much Don hated naps; Don resented every moment he wasn't awake and doing something.

That's why he frowned when Donatello didn't bristle at the suggestion. He nodded in agreement and stood with a grunt of effort, and Leonardo was almost positive his face paled when he stood.

Don sighed in defeat, barely looking at Leo as he spoke. "I think you're right. Wake me up for patrol later, alright?"

"Sure," Leo said carefully. If Donatello had been looking at him, he would have noticed the shift in Leo's brow from creases of irritation to worry lines.

But Donatello had his head bowed, rubbing circles into his forehead as he loped off to his bedroom.

He settled in under the covers of his bed, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. As he drifted off, Donatello's last thought was whether or not he could finish those blueprints before patrol.

-T-

He awoke slowly, his vision blurred and his limbs heavy with slumber. As he crawled his way back to consciousness, Donatello registered with a sense of relief that his headache was gone. The aspirin had clearly done its work. As he rose slowly from the mattress, he threw a glance at the clock. 11:13 pm…

_10:13?!_

Donatello cursed through his teeth as he leapt from bed, making a beeline for the pile of gear near the end of his bed. He threw on his gear, tying on his mask as he ran out his bedroom door. He raced to the door of his father's room and skid to a halt outside the door, flinging the sliding door open. Donatello hung onto the doorframe, his heart pounding as he waited for his father to speak.

Despite Donatello's sudden entrance, Master Splinter remained completely calm, barely twitching when the door flew open. He was bent over a book, one paw absently stroking the whiskers on his chin. The flickering candles that illuminated the pages of his book cast heavy shadows over his pointed face, turning his eyes into dark pools set deeply in his face. Master Splinter didn't look up until he had finished his paragraph, and when he saw his dishevelled son hanging in the doorway, his maw turned up in a smile.

"Donatello. I take it you slept well?" His was warm and soothing like stream of water washing over him. Master Splinter could calm Donatello quickly than anyone, and at his father's words, his heart slowed to a cant in his chest.

"Yeah, I guess," Donatello still sounded like he was half asleep, his speech abnormally slow. He frowned at Master Splinter's gentle smile; he had expected to be reprimanded for oversleeping. "But where did everybody go?"

Master Splinter's whiskers twitched and his eyes fell to his book, his fingers idly slipping a bookmark into his page.

"Donatello, please come sit with me," Master Splinter asked as he gestured to the cushion opposite him, carefully postponing his response to Donatello's question.

Donatello obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the cushion that was now much too small for him, but he would never admit that to his father. Once he was settled, Master Splinter leaned back to observe his son. Donatello was still sleepy eyed, the crust of his slumber outlining the corners of his eyes. His only reaction was a mild twitch of Splinter's snout, his eyes flicking over Donatello once more to assess his fatigue before he spoke.

"Your brothers left for patrol two hours ago," Master Splinter was gentle in his delivery, not wanting to upset Donatello. Although Donatello had interests outside of his ninjutsu, he took patrol very seriously and would be loath to miss it.

"I'm so sorry, Sensei. I didn't mean to oversleep," Donatello said, his apology showing his guilt. He furrowed his brow in concentration, and Splinter could see him calculating as he asked, "Do you think I could catch up with them? It's Thursday, so they're doing the C route. If I use tunnel 17, go topside, and cut across Manchester, I should reach them at Cisco's in less than twenty minutes."

"That won't be necessary, my son," Master Splinter interrupted . When Donatello looked confused, Master Splinter explained, "When they were unable to wake you, Raphael suggested that they take Mr. Jones to fill your place tonight. They are not expecting you to join them. They understand that you needed to sleep."

Donatello looked hurt at the realization that Casey had filled his place, his fingers flexing in his lap. His desperation making his words run into each other, Donatello insisted, "But Sensei, I know I can make it, I've got the route in my head. I messed up by sleeping in, but I'm sure I can fix it–"

"Enough, Donatello." The command left no room for argument. Donatello fell silent, his face pinched in guilt.

"You work too hard," Master Splinter said, reaching a paw across the table and laying it on his hand. "There is no harm in missing patrol just this once. Often our bodies know what we need more than we ourselves do, and your body made it very clear that you needed some rest. Do not worry. Just enjoy the time you have to rejuvenate."

Donatello seemed unconvinced, but he nodded anyway. He stood and bowed to his father out of habit, saying a quiet "thank you" before he excused himself from his Master's room.

It was only a few minutes after Donatello's departure that the faint sounds of his tinkering in the lab started up again. Master Splinter sighed when he heard the thud of a dropped textbook, exasperated with his son's inability to take a break. Sometimes he was worse than Leonardo.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about what Donatello had said, but his energy was off. He lacked the usual spark in his eyes, and it had nothing to do with his impromptu nap.

Master Splinter pondered his interaction with Donatello for a long time, still and thoughtful even after the sounds in the lab died down and he heard his other three sons shuffle into the lair. In the newfound silence of the lair, Master Splinter readjusted his position on his cushion, resting his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes and began to slow his breathing, making his breath pattern perfectly even. When his muscles were heavy with relaxation and his breath barely broke the quiet around him, he felt the tingles on the edges of his body. It began at the ends of his nose, ears, and whiskers, spreading gradually enveloped his head. The same sensation filled the tips of his claws and his toes, stretching up toward the center of his body until his whole body buzzed with energy. A quiet hum began in his ears, its source the center of his skull, and slowly increased in volume as the tingling intensified.

As his mind transcended his body, Master Splinter focused his energy on Donatello, who was fast asleep on the opposite end of the corridor. He resolved to discover what was at the route of his son's troubles, and heal him.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

"C'mon brainiac, move that shell of yours!" Raphael teased as he took another swipe at Donatello.

For his part, Donatello contained his snarky remark and actually landed a hit on Raphael; his first of the practice. A duck and a sweep of the leg caught Raphael off guard. It was enough to let Donatello spring back up and clip his jaw with a fist.

"Who needs to move their shell again?" Donatello grinned and rolled away from Raph's annoyed strike.

It was no secret that Donatello was not a big fan of hand-to-hand combat. He preferred using objects and angles to defeat his opponents, not brutish force. He also wasn't a fan of sparring with Raphael, the strongest and most ruthless of his brothers in combat. Where Donatello calculated, Raphael charged; where he timed, Raphael struck. It was difficult to beat someone who relied so heavily on instinct, like every attack was programmed into his DNA. Target: Donatello. Mission: humiliate with extreme prejudice.

Donatello's dependence on his brain was being tested. Two months ago his first migraine hit, and they had become more frequent as the weeks wore on. Right now an unwelcome headache was plucking at his temples. Each time he winced at a stronger pulse, Raphael slipped past his defenses and pinned him, and he was left with his head spinning and the nausea building in his gut.

Donatello made another attack, this time missing Raph by a centimetre and having to somersault out of the way of a flying kick. As he stood, Donatello wobbled and his eyes crossed for a second. Raphael latched onto the flaw and coiled for his final attack.

"The fight still ain't over. I've pinned you three times," Raphael said, his teeth bared in triumph. "And it looks like I'm gonna make it four."

Raphael lunged just as Donatello's vision went blurry, and he was unable to ward off the attack. Don grunted as his shell hit the floor, his head knocking against the tatami mats underneath him.

"Gotcha again!" Raph crowed in victory, resting his weight on Donatello.

Donatello squinted to focus on Raphael, his vision swimming with red and green as the headache flooded his senses, swelling to a full migraine. The force of the pain hit his stomach, and Donatello could feel his insides rolling, working their way up his esophagus.

"Get off!" The command came out horse, barely louder than a regular speaking voice. It was only when Donatello shoved Raph's shoulder that he freed him. Donatello rolled onto his side, short of breath as he struggled to his feet. His stomach churned like rapids as he stumbled out of the dojo, making a direct path for the bathroom with his family calling his name behind him.

'_Almost there…not much further…I can make it.'_

These are the things he told himself. But he didn't make it.

Don doubled over between the doorway of Raph's room and the bathroom and retched, disgusted with himself. He shook as his stomach emptied itself, leaning heavily onto the wall for support.

He sensed his father coming up behind him but made no move to speak even as the wave of nausea passed, leaving only a pool of sick in its place. Donatello stayed frozen with his hand braced against the wall for another few minutes, trying to ignore the sour taste in his mouth while he gulped lungfuls of air.

When he felt his father's paws land on his arms and gently nudge him, he let himself be steered to the bathroom, holding onto the wall for support. Inside the bathroom, Donatello let his father clean his face and rinsed his mouth. Once he was clean, Donatello sat on the closed toilet lid and bent over at his father's request, relaxed when Master Splinter pressed a cool cloth to the back of his neck. Donatello was like putty, pliable to his father's hands, not once speaking or having to be told what to do.

It was only when Donatello's breath evened out that that he could speak.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. I don't know what's wrong with me today, I just feel…really off."

Master Splinter placed a sympathetic paw on his shoulder, rubbing circles to calm him. His words careful, he said, "It is not just today, my son. You have not been well for many months, and I fear that your illness is more serious than we initially believed. I have spent many evenings meditating on your energy, and it is growing darker each day. I think that it is time to seek a diagnosis."

Donatello gave a shallow nod, staring hard at the bathroom floor as he formed his plan. "I'll give Leatherhead a call so we can run some tests as soon as possible. He has more medical equipment than I do."

"That would be best," Master Splinter agreed. "Now, I believe you should rest. Training is over for the day."

"Thank you, Master Splinter," Donatello said as he rose from his seat on the toilet lid and left the bathroom.

On the other side of the door, he noticed that his mess was cleaned up and Raphael was leaning against the wall, biting a thumbnail as he stared into space. After a few seconds, Raphael realized who was next to him and he immediately dropped his hand, pushing off the wall.

"Donnie, I'm real sorry. I didn't mean to hurt ya," Raph said, his brows knit in the middle and his mouth pulled down at the corners. In his peripherals, Don could see Raph's fists rhythmically clenching and relaxing.

Don smiled at his brother's concern. Now that he was able to see straight, he noticed Mikey and Leo peering around the door to the dojo behind Raph. Leo's face was drawn in worry, his eyes on Don as if he could figure out his mystery illness merely by looking. Mikey's lips were pinched in concern, his brow wrinkled.

Donatello shifted under his brothers' scrutiny, unable to stand the pity in their faces. Sprinting from practice to go toss his cookies was bad enough, now he was the focus of the entire lair's worry.

"It wasn't your fault, Raph. I was already feeling sick; you just tackled me at a bad moment."

Unable to bear the tension, Don stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Raph in an uncommon hug. Raph seized the opportunity to latch onto Don, squeezing him all too tightly as relief surged through him. Don choked on his breath, his brother's hold like a python winding around his neck.

When Don finally pried himself from the hug, Don felt exhausted from the morning's events. He mumbled something about going to his room for a nap, and Raph bobbed his head in understanding.

"If you need anything, just holler," he added, giving Don's arm a squeeze.

"Sure," Don entertained Raph's worry even though he knew he wouldn't ask for his help. "See you later."

As he trudged to his room, already fantasizing about how nice his cool bed sheets would feel on his clammy skin, Donatello felt his brothers' eyes fixed on his shell. It almost felt like they were onlookers at a funeral, and he was walking to his grave.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Leatherhead was more than willing to help Donatello run some tests, and insisted that he come over the day Donatello called. He agreed, but he drew the line when Leatherhead offered to carry all of his equipment over to the lair for testing. Donatello wasn't one to put people out, and he was worried that if they saw all the testing equipment, his family would start preparing a coffin.

Once he was there, Leatherhead got right down to business. The initial testing was a broad troubleshoot of any issues. He checked Donatello's heart rate and blood pressure, and analyzed his saliva, mucus, blood, urine, stool…if it could be extracted, they tested it. When the tests proved negative for common ailments, Leatherhead sat back in his chair, completely stumped. He pinched the bridge of his snout, closing his eyes as he ran through Donatello's symptoms again. Headaches, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, loss of appetite...they were common symptoms, all pointing to a mystery cause.

"We will need to do some further testing," Leatherhead finally said. He dropped his hand and stood from his chair, crossing to a large machine in the corner of the room. Donatello realized the tube-shaped machine was an Utrom version of an MRI scanner; flashier on the outside, but composed of the same parts. The machine was a walk-in, with a narrow metal door in the front.

"Step inside. I'll do a full body scan to check for any cysts or abnormalities. It should only take a few minutes." Donatello obeyed, barely flinching when the unfamiliar pink light broke across his skin, scanning him from top to bottom, then up each side. The scan was quick and painless, but the following wait was excruciating. It couldn't have been longer than a minute after Donatello stepped out of the machine, but he sucked on his lip the entire time, his fingers tapping in a constant pattern on the desktop.

When the images were complete, Leatherhead set to work, bent over his computer monitor in concentration. As he looked over the images on his computer screen, he frowned, his eyes narrowed as he tapped a few more keys. His shoulders coiled with tension when he reached the end of the page, his eyes flicking back up to the top of the screen.

"That can't be right," he mumbled, and without even acknowledging Donatello, he flipped open the large medical text on his desk. He muttered nonsense as he flicked through pages, seeking something in particular and totally unaware that Donatello was not two inches behind him. Donatello leaned over Leatherhead's shoulder as he consulted the text, analyzing the scan for whatever had thrown Leatherhead into his confused state. The images of his limbs and torso looked perfectly fine. He flicked up to the page with the close up of his head and felt his stomach drop.

There were three abnormal, ovular shapes dotting the front of his right hemisphere.

The colour must have completely drained from his face, because when Leatherhead looked back at him to speak, he grabbed Don's arm like he was expecting him to faint.

"Donatello, I don't understand…there must have been a mistake with the equipment, there is no way you could have…."

He trailed off, unable to say the word out loud. But the word came screeching into Donatello's mind, emerging from the unspoken fears that had danced around the edges of his consciousness since the beginning: Cancer.

The whirring machines filled the silence between them, and a fresh headache started to paw at Donatello's forehead in warning. Donatello staved off the assault, fighting to maintain his breathing even as his mind swirled in panic. Leatherhead was right, it shouldn't be possible. He was so young, he was in such good health…

But the scans didn't lie. The proof was staring him in the face.

It was then that Donatello registered the sniffles, and he snapped out of his panic. He looked down at Leatherhead, whose maw was tight in his effort to contain his tears. That didn't stop moisture from gathering at the corners of his eyes or the rogue sniffle that popped out.

"Hey, LH," Donatello said, rubbing circles into Leatherhead's shoulder much like his father had done to him not twenty four hours ago, "There's no need to get upset. We don't even know what kind of growth is going on in my brain; it's very possible that it is possible to remove."

Donatello's calmness seemed to affect Leatherhead, for he stopped sniffling immediately, straightening in his chair.

"You are right, my friend." Leatherhead wiped the tears from his eyes and stood tall, his chest puffed with purpose. His voice ringing with determination, Leatherhead said, "We will do a biopsy to diagnose the nature of the tumour, and then we'll run a myelogram to see if the abnormality has spread to other regions."

He now wore his doctor's face, the one that helped him run his tests objectively and maintain his cool through the procedure. Don almost collapsed with relief. At least he didn't have to console a weeping crocodile while he internally screamed about his impending death.

Donatello smiled, trying to encourage Leatherhead; to keep his spirits up. He didn't say what was really on his mind: that the abnormalities looked like stage 3 tumours.

It was a long shot, he knew that. He also knew that Leatherhead would find out eventually. But for even a moment, Donatello couldn't deny him a shred of hope. He owed that much to his friend.

-T-

For the first time he could remember, Donatello wasn't happy to be proved right. When the tests were complete, there was no denying the severity of Donatello's illness. They were both quiet for a very long time, staring at the screen as if that would change the results, but the data remained constant. Stage 3. Just as he suspected.

When Leatherhead finally spoke, it was with an aged voice. "I know the results are poor, but do not give up yet. I believe that with some radiation treatment, we can reduce the size of your tumours and kill some of the cells that have spread to other regions."

He reached across his desk to pick up the Shell Cell that lay there, buried under the stack of urine test results. Leatherhead held the phone out to Donatello, waiting for him to take it. Donatello didn't react right away, and Leatherhead nudged his arm as he spoke.

"You should call your family, Donatello. They will need to hear about your treatment."

Donatello stayed completely still, his eyes glued to the screen. His words came out in an unfamiliar monotone: "I'm not telling them."

Leatherhead blinked at him, unsure if he had heard Donatello properly. One look at Donatello's hardened face indicated that yes, he had heard Donatello correctly, and no, he was not joking. He was in shock, Leatherhead reasoned, and needed someone to talk some sense into him. He needed someone to be his brain.

Leatherhead's hand landed on Donatello's shell, a comforting weight. His words deliberately gentle, he said, "I know this is scary for you, Donatello. But that's why you need to tell your family–"

"No." Donatello cut him off, his tone sharp. "There's a chance we can fix this, you said so yourself. We don't need to tell them until it's more serious."

"That's ridiculous! You're seriously ill and your family needs to know. You're being unreasonable, Donatello." Leatherhead was raising his voice now, trying to make headway with his friend, whom was notoriously stubborn in his own health affairs.

Donatello sighed in frustration, rolling his eyes and letting his head tilt to the side, his hands flying up in exasperation. "But LH, if I can just–"

"NO!" The sudden roar shut him up, leaving Donatello starting wide-eyed at his friend. Leatherhead calmed himself down just as quickly as he got worked up, and his breath evened out within seconds.

Leatherhead's voice was understanding, but firm, as he said, "You are afraid, Donatello, and you do not want to burden your family. But I promise you, I will do everything I can to help you, and so will your family. You need their support. You cannot do it alone."

Donatello absorbed this for a moment, staring hard at the floor. When he looked up, Leatherhead could see the fatigue creeping into his eyes, eyes that echoed with future ghosts now made real. He shook where he stood, his fear and determination mixing into one terrifying emotion that he couldn't name; a feeling that surged through him when he was faced with powerful enemy.

Donatello released a sigh that held a lifetime of weariness. He looked up at his friend and pleaded in a low voice, "I don't want to tell them today. Just…give me time. Give me time to figure this out."

Leatherhead felt another wave of reason swell over him, prepared to fight Donatello. Another look at his broken friend killed the power within him, and he bowed his head in resignation. He too knew the darkness of disease, a demon that crept into your bones, making its home in the marrow and sucking your energy, turning you into something else. It was the greatest fear he had ever known, a sensation that he would never forget. Donatello felt it, he could see it in the nervous way his eyes flit about, trying to pin down a single thought that wasn't conceived by despair; only to be reminded that thoughts were spectres, appearing one moment and gone the next. You can't pin down a spectre, or destroy a ghost. They continue to drift around you, cloaking you.

But Donatello was not like him. He was much more resilient. Leatherhead trusted Donatello, and would give him the opportunity to come to terms with today's revelation.

"Alright, Donatello. This may remain between us for a few days. But you must tell them _soon_," Leatherhead agreed, his emphasis on timeliness.

"I know," Donatello replied, his expression serious. His lips turning up at the corners, he said, "Why don't we take a look at this radiation treatment, see what it's about?"

His positivity was convincing, even to himself, as he set a treatment schedule with Leatherhead, thanked his friend for his help, and left the old subway station, a special pain medication in hand. It was only when he was walking through the tunnel, quiet save for the faint trickle of water and the slap of his feet on concrete that Donatello's earlier thoughts returned.

As he rounded the corner on the last tunnel to the lair, he was certain of one thing: he would not tell his family. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't need to.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

Donatello leaned back in his computer chair, rubbing at the early morning crust rimming his eyes. After a big stretch, his left arm reaching far above his head, he righted himself in his chair to take another look at his formula. Research journals, textbooks, and loose sheets of equations littered his desk, his messy scrawl crammed in the margins of every page. The letters were starting to swirl into alphabet soup, but he continued on, refusing to admit defeat. He would find a cure even if it killed him.

"Maybe if I attach a different type of transport protein…" he mumbled absently to himself as he rose from his chair and crossed to his lab table. This too was completely covered in his materials, topped with petri dishes, chemicals, test tubes, a Bunsen burner, and biological samples. He slipped down the goggles perched on his head, and found one of his incubating samples. He placed one of slides beneath the microscope, flicking the light and focusing the lens on the slide.

There were a few seconds of silence, followed by a loud, "Dammit!" He stepped back from the microscope, his hands gripping his skull as the frustration reached a high point.

He had been working on a cure eight hours a day for the past two months, barely taking a break, and he had nothing that could even slow the cancerous growth, let alone destroy the cells. All this alien tech at his disposal, and he was powerless to stop the illness destroying his brain.

Donatello was so lost in thought that he jumped when he heard the characteristic beep of his alarm.

"Time to see Leatherhead," he muttered to himself, his voice heavy as he slid out of his lab coat and prepared himself for the torture that was radiation treatment.

-T-

Another day, another radiation treatment. He was often startled by how routine it had become. His schedule had reached a new level of redundancy: wake up at 6:00, go to practice (if he wasn't completely exhausted), have breakfast (if he wasn't nauseous), then work in his lab on the cure until his treatment.

His family, although concerned with his health and growing increasingly suspicious about his daily visits with Leatherhead, were still unaware of his illness. An easy lie slipped past his lips when he was questioned about his condition. A fabricated story about the negative effects of work-related stress and a mild case of food poisoning satisfied his family, although at the two month mark they were starting to ask questions again.

After his radiation treatment, Donatello usually stole back to his room for a nap under the premise of working on some delicate material that required total concentration and silence. After a few hours of shut eye, he returned to his bio-chemical work until dinner, which he rarely ate. Then there was patrol, which was always a challenge when his mind was more focused on the properties of neurotransmitters and the permeability of cancer cell membranes than purse-snatchers and thugs. He had almost lost his head to a Purple Dragon's rusty crowbar last week and got seriously chewed out by Raph and Leo afterward.

By the time he returned home from patrol, Donatello was often too tired to take off his gear, falling face first onto his mattress with his bo still strapped to his back. Skip to the next day, where he repeated the cycle over again.

Donatello could hardly stand the tedium of his days, which often left far too much time for him to be alone with his thoughts; thoughts that were becoming progressively more defeatist. Strapped to a table for a solid hour of radiation, unable to move, read, or speak, Donatello found his thoughts sinking into that slick, cool darkness that enveloped him on the day of his diagnosis. These thoughts had nimble tendrils that coiled into his subconscious, making a home there and coming to the foreground when Donatello had nothing to occupy himself with.

They permeated his every action, making him wonder whether his efforts were worth the time, or if they were merely his final, desperate cling to life.

It was a relief when the timer went off and Leatherhead removed the mould holding his head in place, momentarily distracting him from the morbid thoughts that plagued him. There was nothing like Leatherhead's calm, soothing voice and optimism, whether genuine or false, to improve Donatello's poor mood. Leatherhead assured him it was a side effect of his illness; a combination of the chemical changes in his brain and his personal struggle with cancer. Donatello wanted to believe him, to banish the alien voices that sucked the hope out of him, but the darkness grew with each small failure.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the table. His head spun at the movement and he clenched his eyes shut. He sometimes forgot how slowly he had to sit up to avoid vomiting. Donatello sucked short breaths in through his teeth, his brow creased as he fortified himself against the nausea that crashed over him. Leatherhead steadied him with a hand, watching the discomfort recede from his features. When Donatello finally opened his eyes, they showed months of exhaustion.

"Well done, Donatello. That's all for today," Leatherhead said in a low voice, helping him slide down from the table. Don nodded groggily, shuffling over to where he left his duffle bag. He stooped over to pick it up and slung the strap over his shoulder as he straightened, releasing a groan of discomfort when his muscles flared in pain. Leatherhead frowned at Donatello's lethargic, painful movements, concerned about the walk back to his home.

"I can walk you home, Donatello," Leatherhead offered, watching the wobble in Donatello's first step to the door.

Donatello turned at his voice, giving a half smile that stopped at the corners of his mouth. His eyes glassy with weariness, Donatello said, "No thanks, LH. I'm alright."

Leatherhead always offered to walk with him, and Donatello always turned him down politely. It was an elaborate routine now, much like the rest of his life; they would continue to dance around Donatello's prognosis, both refusing to admit what little hope there was. Two months of treatment using machinery made of salvaged Utrom technology, and there was still no improvement in his tumours. The treatment wore on both of them, Donatello physically, and Leatherhead emotionally. They were both helpless in the face of such progressed tumours, and not even the Utrom's advanced technology could help.

Donatello's iron will – also known as stubbornness – could not be moved, and Leatherhead respected his Donatello's wishes. "If you are sure, my friend. Don't forget to ask someone in your family to help you with those injections. Be careful, and do not hesitate to call me if you need help."

"Okay," Donatello mumbled, his eyes moving to a point beyond his head and then flicking downward. The way his fingers flexed caught Leatherhead's attention, and he frowned at the movement. Donatello was known for nervous twitches, and he only fidgeted like that when he was impatient, or lying. He wasn't bolting for the door, so it wasn't impatience. That meant it had to be a lie. But what would he lie about?

Realization crept over Leatherhead, and he felt the heat spread over his head, enveloping him in frustration. He couldn't believe it.

"Donatello." He forced his voice to stay calm, but he shook with apprehension. "Have you told your family about your illness?"

Donatello remained completely still, staring hard at the ground. His silence was more telling than any confession, and a growl ripped from Leatherhead's chest.

"You need to tell them, Donatello. It is cruel to keep them in the dark. Don't you understand the severity of your illness?"

Donatello's head snapped up at the question, his jaw pulled tight and his eyes flashing with rage.

"You think I don't understand the 'severity' of my illness?" Donatello demanded, his tone dangerous. "I more than understand it, I am _living it_! I've spent two months holed up in my lab, trying to make some kind of cure to stop this _thing _and _nothing is working_! I – I don't know what to tell them! How do I tell them 'I'm dying of cancer and pretty soon I'm gonna be incapable of getting out of bed, let alone doing anything! Eventually, I'm going to be a vegetable–"

He stopped as he choked on a sob, his hand flying to his mouth. The horror was written on his face, in the panic of his wide eyes. He was a child, seeking comfort where there was none, unable to defend himself or slow the cancer down or even _breathe_.

Leatherhead took a step forward, halting to gauge Donatello's reaction. When Donatello showed no resistance, Leatherhead took another step, reaching out to hug him. It was only when he had his arms around him that Leatherhead remembered how small Donatello was. He had always been significantly smaller than Leatherhead, but the lost weight and lack of muscle definition made Donatello barely more than a ragdoll in his arms. He was worn down from months of poor diet and sleep habits, daily treatments and medication. They all deflated him from within.

Donatello returned the hug, and Leatherhead didn't mention the wetness that seeped into his lab coat from Donatello's eyes. They stood there for a minute before Donatello sniffled loudly and pulled away, the walls going up again, with nothing left of his distress but the puffiness of his eyes.

"You are not alone. I am here for you, Donatello." Leatherhead waited until Donatello met his gaze before he continued. "But you must also seek help from your family. They need to know what is going on. They love you and will support you through your healing."

Donatello smiled weakly and nodded, pretending to take it all in. But he couldn't ignore the voice in the back of his head that wondered in a whisper: _'Who will support my family?'_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

"And THAT'S when I took my sword and totally demolished the dwarf army! I was like wham! Bam! Shiiiing! It was _awesome–_"

Donatello sighed, rubbing at his temple. It wasn't that Mikey's retelling of his gameplay was giving him a headache – his migraine had been brewing for the past two hours but refused to say anything – but the overdramatic play by play wasn't helping things.

The sigh stopped Mikey in his tracks and he glanced over at his brother. When he noticed the wrinkles of discomfort around Don's forehead, his voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh, sorry Donnie," Mikey said gently, as if that would magically make Don's headache disappear.

'_I wish that's all it would take to make this headache go away,'_ Don thought, but he kept his snarky comment to himself.

"It's fine," he lied, his voice tight. At that moment, the shell cell in his belt beeped and Don reluctantly picked it up, bracing himself for the booming voice on the other end.

"See anything on the South side?" Don winced the violent sound of Leo's question. His brother didn't yet understand the concept of using speakerphone.

"Nothing here," Don replied in a raspy voice. " We're–"

He froze when his eyes caught subtle movement on the next rooftop over, a graceful form gliding a few meters before ducking below the lip of the building. He leaned forward, squinting to see into the darkness.

"What's wrong, Donnie?" Leonardo asked at the sudden silence on the other end of the phone, his voice filled with fear.

Donatello didn't answer right away, staring hard at the place where the figure had disappeared. Even after a few seconds, there was nothing. He gave his head a shake and chalked it up to his headache, which often distorted his vision. It must have been a trick of the shadows, or his eyes. Maybe a pigeon. Nothing to worry about.

"Sorry, I just got distracted," Don said finally as he turned his back on the rooftop. His tone all seriousness again, he continued his briefing.

"We're all clear. Mikey and I will scan the harbour area and then head back to–"

"OH SHIT!" Mikey swore loudly.

Don whirled back around to follow Mikey's gaze and he cursed, too. Emerging from the shadows on the opposite rooftop was a mass of figures with red eyes. Foot soldiers.

"Donnie? Donnie, what is it?" Leo demanded.

"Foot soldiers. At least thirty of them," Don said into the phone. He hit the speaker button and tucked the phone into his belt, drawing his bo simultaneously. Mikey already had his weapons spinning, standing between Don and the clump of ninja descending on their rooftop.

"Keep your phone on. Do what you can to hold them off. Raph and I are on our way," Leo ordered.

"Will do, Leo," Mikey answered just before he made his charge.

Then it was a complete blur. Donatello was running on instinct, his mind on autopilot. He swung his staff with efficient, calculated movements, trying to ignore his dizziness and the feeling of bile working its way up his throat. His head was throbbing steadily with his migraine, the clash of steel and the occasional battle cry from Mikey not improving the situation. It was all Donatello could do to hold off his attackers.

'_I hope Leo and Raph get here soon,' _he thought to himself as he took out another Foot soldier with his bo. When he straightened up, a hand flew to his head at the jolt of pain.

_Crack. _In his distraction, one of the ninja managed to knock him hard in the chest with the butt of his tanto. Donatello staggered back, gasping for air as his nausea worked its way to the forefront again. The hit rattled him, his vision going double and his head spinning. Unable to see straight, the next blow knocked him right onto his shell, his head whirling at the sensation.

"Donnie!" He heard Mikey cry through the metallic cling of swords and the dull sound of wood hitting flesh.

"Donnie!" He heard his name again, but this time it was Leo's voice cutting through the haze.

As the darkness flooded his vision, the last thing he saw was a blur of red and green barrelling into the fray. Then, it all went black.

-T-

"…how long has he…mrrmr…like this?"

As Donatello came around, he caught snippets of a conversation, fuzzy around the edges and cutting out every few seconds like an old radio.

"We discovered…mrmrrrmmmmr….two months…mrrrrmrr...treatment since…mrmrrmmrrr...been unsuccessful."

He recognized the low rumble of Leatherhead's voice. He frowned in his semi consciousness, trying to figure out why Leatherhead was here. The last thing he remembered was being with Mikey.

Wait…they were on a rooftop. There were dozens of shadows…no…Foot ninja. They were fighting and then he was on the ground. His vision was fading, and then…suddenly Raph and Leo were there. After he passed out, he had no recollection of what happened, but it didn't take a genius to figure out how it went down: Leo, Mikey, and Raph tore through the Foot soldiers,

Where was he now? Donatello cracked his eyelids to see where here was, and was surprised to see he was in his lab. He was lying on the cot, able to see his family and Leatherhead standing in a clump a few meters from the foot of the bed. Through his eyelids, Don made out Leonardo's form closest to his bed, his shell to Don. Leo was flanked by Master Splinter and Raphael, and Mikey gripped Raph's arm on the other side. Donatello couldn't tell if Mikey was trying to calm Raph or seeking comfort from his brother, but he could see the tension that held his brothers' shoulders tight. What were they all so worried about?

That was when Don registered what Leatherhead had said a few seconds earlier and realized they were talking about him; about his cancer, and the poor results of his treatment.

This was everything he had feared since his diagnosis: his family weeping for a death that hadn't even happened. Treating him like the disease was all that was left of him.

"How much time does he have?" It was Master Splinter's voice, his low tone barely masking the thickness in his voice.

There was a pause then. Donatello held his breath, hoping no one would notice he was awake.

"Not much longer," Leatherhead finally said. "Less than a year."

Donatello had suspected his poor prognosis, but it was different hearing it out loud. Less than a year. He wouldn't reach Angel's 18th birthday, or the next Battle Nexus Championship. He wouldn't see another 4th of July fireworks display or get to watch April walk down the aisle. He felt tears prick the backs of his eyes and his eyelids fluttered to keep them back. Mikey caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and was by his side in a flash, leaning over him.

"Hey, Donnie. How are you feeling, buddy?" Mikey's voice was low and raspy, his smile forced.

When the rest of his family realized Donatello was awake, the rest of them crowded around the bed.

"'M fine," he mumbled. His parched mouth garbled his speech. When he smiled to reassure him, it felt like his lips split open, but he tried to smile anyway. He wound up with more of a grimace, but Mikey could tell he was trying.

When he saw the moisture gathering in Mikey's eyes, Donatello made a joke to stop the tears from falling. "Did we win?"

Raph choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob, his eyes glistening. "Yeah, Donnie boy. We won."

He reached out a hand to squeeze Don's knee through the blanket, unable to stop the tear that trailed down his cheek.

Leonardo stared hard at him, his jaw tight with concealed emotion. His hand landed right next to Raph's on top of the blanket, a firm hold tethering him to reality.

"My son," Master Splinter murmured, his throat tight. He moved closer to the head of the bed, placing a warm paw on Don's forehead. He looked like he was going to say something else, but he cleared his throat instead, blinking rapidly.

Donatello struggled to sit up, if only to avoid the infirm treatment. Master Splinter grasped his arm as he rose and propped two pillows behind him. Donatello settled back, mumbling a thank you through a muted smile. It was nice, this quiet moment with his family, but it was tainted by the circumstances: his brothers and father, all gathered around him because he was dying of an incurable disease.

He knew that the routine would grow old quickly, but Donatello was content to enjoy it at least for now. He had a feeling this would be the last fond memory he had of his family.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

The lair was quiet except for the scratch of Donatello's pencil and Mikey's one-sided conversation. Donatello struggled to remain focused on what he was writing as Mikey chattered in his ear, his voice overly enthusiastic even for him.

"I was thinking that you and me could play Chinese checkers, if you're up for it? Sensei taught me, and not to brag, but I'm pretty good at it." Mikey pretended to brush dirt off his shoulder, grinning at Don.

For his part, Don tried to smile, only glancing up for a moment before returning to his notebook. Never losing steam in his writing, Donatello asked, "Oh yeah? When did you start learning that?"

"A couple of weeks ago. The day after Leatherhead came over–"

Mikey went suddenly quiet, realizing what he had said. The night of Donatello's fainting spell was still fresh in his family's memory, and since then, their entire existence seemed to revolve around Donatello's disease. Leonardo was constantly hovering over him, so much that Donatello often felt like asking him if he wanted to wipe his ass for him, too? He understood Leo's concern, but he needed to draw the line somewhere. You can't ask someone if they need another person in the bathroom while they shower, ill or not.

Raphael was just as good at hovering as Leo, but he wasn't constantly trying to cut Donatello's food into smaller bites or wrap him in blankets. Raph was quiet and attentive, twitching every time Donatello looked or sounded uncomfortable. He insisted upon accompanying Don to Leatherhead's for treatment every day, despite the fact it was a three minute walk. While Donatello was strapped down for his radiation treatment, Raph would sit silently in the corner, brooding over him for the hour. Raph's mere presence made Donatello feel dark himself, watching his brother so overcome with concern and fear. He wouldn't let Don out of his sight for longer than an hour.

Master Splinter was also constantly breathing down his neck. He brought Donatello in for his own spiritual healing sessions every day. They had been going on for the past two weeks and even Donatello could tell that the results were discouraging. His pain was getting worse, his dizzy spells more frequent, and his fatigue bowled him over. He could hardly get any work done, and his cancer cure was nowhere near functional. Amid the treatment sessions, obligatory meals, and hours spent trying to play the optimistic patient, Donatello felt nothing but exhaustion. He wasn't much of an idealist anymore.

That was what Mikey was for. Although he skirted around Don now, watching his noise and checking his humour, there were moments when his comedic nature burst through the veil of seriousness. Those rare moments when they were alone together were one of the things Don missed about his family dynamic, among others. He missed Raphael's crude humour, and sarcasm that rivalled his own. He missed the quiet evenings when Raph and Mikey were at Casey's watching wrestling and he and Leo would chat over tea. He missed his father coming into his lab to observe his work, his eyes lighting up at his inventions and his lips mouthing the new techie language Donatello imparted to him.

Donatello missed the days when his brothers looked to him for guidance and expertise. Now he just felt like he had _cancer_ tattooed on every inch of his skin, seeping into him, poisoning him.

"Dude, I'm sorry," Mikey apologized.

Mikey's apology snapped Don out of his thoughts. He felt as though he had relived the past two weeks, but only a few seconds had passed since he zoned out. Mikey's face, pinched with guilt, made Don want to shake him by the shoulders and beg him to go back to being a cheeky little shit, to just be _normal_ – but he couldn't. He was marked, ill, _diseased_. Broken beyond repair.

"It's fine. No worries," Donatello said, his tone almost dismissive. Without anyone else to intervene, the silence stretched between them, filled with unasked questions and unmentioned fear.

Raphael, Leonardo, and Master Splinter were out dealing with structural issues in the tunnels and had designated Mikey, the loudest among them, to stay with Donatello. Or, as Donatello thought to himself as they left with his toolbox in hand: to _babysit him_. He couldn't stand being treated like he was incapable. He needed _out_.

Donatello glanced at the clock; they had only been away for ten minutes and would not return for at least another thirty. That gave him plenty of time.

"Hey Mikey, how about you grab the Chinese checker board? I'll play a round," Donatello said suddenly.

Mikey lit up at the opportunity to make Don happy. "No problem, bro! I'll get the board, I think it's in Sensei's room."

"Actually," Don cut in, stopping Mikey in his tracks, "I was using it with Leo earlier today, I think I took it back to my room. It's probably on the bookshelf. If it isn't, check the desk drawers."

"Okay! Just wait until I get back, I'm gonna kick your shell!" With that, Mikey was off.

The second Mikey disappeared through the doorway, Donatello ripped the page he was writing on from his notebook and placed it on the arm of the couch. He reached under the couch and slid out a small messenger bag that he had stashed there two days ago. The bag was stocked with enough food and water to get him out of the city. He shoved his notebook and pencil into the bag before he slung it over his shoulder. Barely daring to breathe, Don tiptoed to the lair door, keeping an eye on his lab in case Mikey came back through the door and caught him in the act.

Donatello nearly stumbled when Mikey called, "Do you mean the drawers on the right, or the left?"

"Right," Don yelled back, praying Mikey wouldn't catch him in the act.

"Thanks!" Then there was quiet again, and it was all Don could do to suppress his sigh of relief. He didn't think he would have been able to walk out the door if Mikey had poked his head out, smiling at him innocently.

The trek to the door was the longest walk of his life. Every step felt like he was nearing death, his heart turning to ice in his chest. He was really doing it. He was leaving his family with nothing but a goodbye note. His plan was two days in the making, formed in his hours of solitude. Donatello couldn't bear to watch his family prepare for his death like his body had already gone cold. He knew his death was inevitable, but he couldn't handle the constant worry that rolled off his brothers and father, each gesture another board for his coffin.

Donatello didn't want to be a black hole, sucking out their energy and pulsing with darkness. He didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want to be the reason for his family's suffering.

His love for his family was the only reason why he could walk out the door that night, taking to the lesser travelled tunnels. He was headed to a place not even his family would think to look for him. Donatello only hoped he could make it outside the city before they noticed he was missing.

-T-

"Come on, come on, pick up…" Mikey muttered, the phone pressed to his ear and his hand clenched on Donatello's note. Leo picked up on the second ring.

"Mikey? Is everything oka–"

"Don's gone! I went to grab something for, like, a _second_, and then he was gone! He left a note, told us not to look for him. I don't know where he is, I'm checking the tunnels right now–"

"_Don's gone?" _Leo echoed, freezing in place. He ignored Raphael's loud response and asked, "Where are you right now?"

"I'm in tunnel 16. Seriously Leo, I only left him alone for a minute. I'm so sorry."

Mikey could hear Raph in the background, his voice rough with panic. "What do you mean Don's gone? Where the hell did he go? I bet Mikey left him alone, that _idiot_–"

"Quiet!" Leo snapped, shooting Raph a glare. Raphael clenched his fists and set his jaw, looking away from Leo, but he remained silent.

When there was no further outburst, Leo said to Mikey, "Get Leatherhead to keep sweeping the tunnels. Tell him Master Splinter will help him."

Master Splinter nodded, too worried about Donatello's disappearance to be impressed with Leonardo's skillful command.

"Mikey, meet me and Raph on the Byerly building in ten minutes. We'll break into search parties from there. On your way, keep an eye out for Don."

"Got it, Captain!" Mikey said before he hung up and dialled Leatherhead's number. As the phone rung, he swung a hard right around the next corner, changing his course mid-stride. As he barrelled down the tunnel, Mikey's heart banged against his chest, his breathing laboured. His head swam with adrenaline that had nothing to do with running.

"Donnie, you better hope I never find your ass, cause I'm gonna kick it!"

-T-

The brothers spent hours searching the rooftops while Master Splinter and Leatherhead scoured the tunnels with nothing to show for it. Once alerted, April tracked the news and listened in to every radio frequency she could access, waiting for any turtle sightings. Even Casey joined the search, tearing up the streets on his bike and investigating Donatello's usual haunts, but there was no sign of him. Donatello had vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving no trace of his leaving aside from his note.

Leo pushed them until the sun started to paint the horizon with gold, racing across streets and boulevards, checking all of Donatello's usual places and every abandoned building in the city limits. It was only when he could make out the early morning commuters on the streets below that Leo insisted they halt their search, but Raph wouldn't hear of it.

"We have to find him. If we don't keep looking we're gonna lose him!" Raph said, his expression determined.

"I want to find him too, Raph. But we can't be seen. If someone sees us, we'll be all over the news and Don will be in even more danger than he is now. Remember what happened the last time an alien sighting made the news? We could barely go out at night, let alone in broad daylight."

"Plus the Foot's been really busy for the last few months," Mikey added. "Our run in with the Foot the other week wasn't random. Every time we meet up with them, they have more guys. They've practically doubled their territory since the summer. If they know we're looking for Don, they might find him first."

Raph was quiet for a long minute, absorbing their words. After a long moment, Raphael admitted defeat, his shoulders collapsing with fatigue.

"Alright. But the second it gets dark, we go looking again."

Leo stepped forward and placed a hand on Raph's shoulder. "Of course. We're gonna find him."

They didn't.


	8. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

I wish I wasn't so sentimental about it. Maybe if I wasn't so attached I wouldn't count the days that have passed since I left, carving marks into the wall with a tarnished nail. One hundred and forty three days since I left my home for the last time. Nearly five months since I last spoke to Leo, or saw Mikey smile. Five months since Raph gave me a noogie, and my father brushed my forehead, promising he would be back soon.

One hundred and forty three days, and I can barely believe it's my birthday. _Our_ birthday. They're probably all at April's now, arguing over movies and eating pizza. I would give anything to watch Mikey and Raph argue about pizza toppings, or hear Leo laugh about some dumb gag gift he got from Casey. I'd even be willing to get a kiss from April and put up with my brothers' teasing for the rest of the night.

Do I regret leaving? No. But I do regret not being able to say goodbye. My family was my life, and without them, I'm dying.

The cold takes another swipe at me and I can barely stay the shiver that seizes me, although a yawn slips through. That's the other thing about the cold; it makes me constantly tired. I used to try to keep myself awake, but now I've just decided to give in, slipping in and out of a doze for most of the day.

My lids slip closed, and the last thing I think about is lit candles on a birthday cake I'll never see.


	9. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

April heard the boys before she saw them. Her living room window rattled and a muffled cackle reached her ears. Before they burst through, she gave the living room the once over, smiling at her handiwork. An afternoon of work had paid off: her living room looked like a rainbow threw up on it, curled streamers draped from the ceiling with multicolored balloons attached at the ends to secure them. More balloons bounced over the floor, nudged by the breeze from a stand-up fan in the corner. A large banner hung over the television, reading in hand painted letters "Happy 17th Birthday!" With names that long, there was no way April could fit them all on the banner.

Leonardo's head popped in first, his eyes crinkling with a smile when he saw April. He was startled by the foil balloon that assaulted him as he ducked through the window of April's apartment and nearly knocked over the lamp. Raph snorted, rolling his eyes at Leo's unusual clumsiness.

"Smooth move, Fearless. Didn't know you were scared of balloons," Raphael muttered, following him through the window and into April's brightly decorated living room.

"Yeah, Leo. Need to change your shell after that one?" Mikey teased, leaping in through the window without looking where he was landing. He landed on a balloon and shrieked at the loud _pop _it made, staggering backwards into the bouquet of helium balloons behind him. Mikey fell through the clump of balloons and landed hard on his rear.

"Speak for yourself, klutz," Leo scoffed, grinning at his younger brother. Michelangelo huffed sheepishly and accepted Leo's hand when he offered to help him up.

April observed the scene in silence, her chest swelling with happiness at the laughter. She hadn't heard the three of them laugh in over a month. She hadn't even seen Leo smile since Don–

She banished the thought swiftly and returned to the half prepared pizza, collecting a clump of cheese to sprinkle on it. She didn't want to make herself sad, not on this special occasion. It was the boys' birthdays, and she didn't want to ruin it by crying into the mozzarella over Donatello.

It had been five months since they last saw him, and five months since the Hamato clan had shown any sign of happiness.

She steeled herself against the sadness that welled up in her and took a steadying breath, giving her best smile. She brushed the cheese residue from her hands and crossed to the living room, all the while kicking up the rainbow confetti in her path. She opened her arms for a hug and said, "Happy birthday, guys!"

"You didn't have to go to this much trouble," Leo protested as she wrapped her arms around him. Leave it to Leo to feel guilty about getting a party on his birthday. April pulled away and gave his cheek a pat, putting his worries to rest.

"It's no trouble at all," April replied, and she meant it.

When she let go of Leo, Mikey nearly knocked her over with the force of his hug. The whole time he hugged her, he chanted, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Anything for your special day!" April said and smiled as she rubbed Mikey's head affectionately.

Once she had given Raph a hug, who grumbled something about being too old for hugs, she noticed that their party was one member short.

"Where's Master Splinter? I thought he was coming,"

"Master Splinter is on his way," Leo said. Before he could elaborate, Mikey cut him off.

"He's getting our presents from his secret hiding place! I'm so good at finding them that he has to hide them outside the lair!" Mikey explained, his grin showing that he was proud of his accomplishment. After a second, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he scanned the room, and he drawled, "Speaking of presents–ow!"

Raph lowered his arm, not at all sorry that he clipped Mikey across the back of the head.

"Stop being a brat," Raph snapped. "April set up this party for us. We don't need any presents."

"That doesn't mean she didn't get us any," Mikey said, his gaze hopeful when he looked back at April. She smiled.

"Of course I got you all something, it's your birthday!"

Mikey whooped at that and Raph had to resist the urge to give him another shove.

Leo looked over April's shoulder to the kitchen, in search of some way to help. Sliding off his scabbard – he honoured April's "no weapons in the house" rule – he suggested, "I can help you with the food if you wan–"

"Nope!" April grabbed Leo by the shoulders and steered him toward the nearest seat, pushing him into it. "Today is a special day, so _you _will sit right here. I have everything taken care of."

The way Leo's eyes darted toward the kitchen a few times, his fingers flexing even when he sat down, told April that it was absolutely killing him to not help her. She hid her amusement behind a hand, not wanting to show that she was enjoying Leo's bemused expression.

"So!" She clapped her hands, bringing their attention back to the party. "Why don't you guys get the movie going? Dinner won't be ready for another fifteen minutes, and it'll take you at least that long to pick a movie."

"S'not my fault Mikey has horrible taste in movies," Raph said, his mouth crooked in a genuine smile.

"Hey!" That did it. April rolled her eyes as she turned her back on the impending battle of wits. Experience had taught her that if was best if she left the brothers to their own devices during an argument.

As she slid the two pizzas into the oven, April checked the clock on the stove, surprised to see that is was already after ten. After her full day at the shop, April had gone straight into party prep, barely stopping to have a shower and get changed.

Not speaking to anyone in particular, April wondered aloud, "Where's Casey? His shift ended almost an hour ago."

"Dunno. Maybe work went late?" Mikey offered, already ripping open a bag of cheese puffs. He grabbed a fistful of cheese puffs and stuffed them into his mouth as he reached for the remote and flicked. A second later, Leonardo snatched the remote from his hand, earning a muffled whine.

"No fah! Gih ih bah!"

Leonardo quickly translated the incoherent message: No fair! Give it back!

"In a minute, Mikey," he replied, flicking through the channels until he landed on the one he was looking for. "I just want to watch the news."

Mikey grumbled something before he swallowed, glaring a hole into the back of Leo's head. He sat back with a pout and crossed his arms petulantly. It was _his_ birthday, too.

After a few minutes of dry news anchors discussing the most recent bill the government refused to pass, Mikey whined, "This is boooooring. Are you almost done?"

"Almost. I'm just waiting for the weather," he responded, not looking away from the debate on television.

"I can tell ya what the forecast is: pain, if ya don't get that trash off the screen in the next five seconds," Raph warned from the corner.

"Alright, alright," Leo ceded, reaching for the remote to change the channel, "Can't a turtle watch the news without being interrupted just once?"

Before Leo could change the channel, the screen flashed a few times, then a familiar red crest appeared on the screen that made Leo freeze and his blood run cold. The rustling of the cheese puff bag stopped immediately and Leo felt Raph lean in over his shoulder, holding his breath.

The screen flickered again, but this time it changed to a shot of a darkened room, a single beam of light illuminating a single figure from above. Leo's heart leapt into his throat. The image that had plagued his dreams since he was fifteen years old was now on April's television in high definition. The Shredder.

"Citizens of New York." The gravelly voice sent chills through the three brothers. April noticed the change in broadcasting and stopped what she was doing, unable to look away from the screen as her chest tightened in fear.

The Shredder continued, "This is my first public address, although it will certainly not be my last. I am here to tell you about the future that awaits you people. A future where you will all bow to me."

Leo clenched his jaw to hold in a scream, his hands clasped in his lap. Beside him, Raphael brushed the handles of his sai with tense fingers before clenching them into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Leo caught the faint gasp from Mikey's lips behind him, and if he could tear his eyes from the speaker on the screen, Leonardo would have seen Mikey shielding the lower half of his face with a pillow, eyes wide and reflecting the bluish light of the screen.

Leo fell deeper into the red eyes of his greatest enemy as the Shredder continued, "Today will be the first of many raids on the city. I have already dispatched two thousand warriors to begin my work on the West Side, and eight thousand more are at my disposal. We will begin the cleansing process of this city."

The way he said "cleansing" made Leo want to vomit; this was not the Shredder's style. Oroku Saki liked to work in the shadows, stealthily taking out enemies and charming powerful people to increase his hold on the city. For the Shredder to have enough confidence to announce a full-scale attack on New York was unsettling.

"I am establishing a new world order, one where you will not need to concern yourselves with petty problems. Freedom of choice muddies life, confuses people, and makes things difficult. Without it, you will have simple lives. So long as you pledge your allegiance to me, you will be safe. Any dissenters will be executed immediately."

"Oh my God," April whispered from the kitchen, her hands gripping the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"A message to my enemies: should you dare to try to stop me, you will perish in the attempt. You are severely outnumbered and out resourced. Your last moments on this earth would be better spent saying goodbye to your loved ones.

"Know this: I will find you and exterminate you."

With those final words, the screen went black and the room descended into silence. They remained frozen in their places, the Shredder's threat echoing in their minds.

Raphael was the first to break the spell. He grasped his sais and marched to the window, his voice deadly as he said, "I'm gonna stop him."

To his relief, Leonardo dipped his head in agreement and grabbed his swords from where they were stored in the corner. In the few seconds it took him to strap them on, Mikey had already brushed the cheese dust off and was following Raphael out the window.

Leonardo was the only one who noticed April, unable to speak or move from her place at the counter. He approached her and placed a hand on her arm, snapping her out of her trance.

"We're going to Saki's tower. When Master Splinter arrives, tell him to meet us there. We won't be able to do this without the five of us."

April swallowed hard. "Four of you, Leo," she barely whispered, feeling a surge of pain in her throat.

Leo's eyes widened as her words sunk in and April wished that she could take them back. She thought she saw tears lining the lower rim of his eye, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

"Right. Four," he said, and his voice sounded hallow, like he had just lost Donatello all over again.

He set his jaw and the hoarseness that threatened to morph into tears disappeared. "Stay inside, and stay safe. If anyone tries to break in, lock yourself in the basement bedroom and whatever you do, don't hit the sewers. Shredder will have dozens of soldiers looking for us down there."

He reached into his belt and pulled out something silvery that flashed in the light. When he held it up, April saw that it was a small knife with a fine blade.

"If anyone tries to hurt you, don't hesitate." He placed the weapon on the counter beside her, his order ringing in her ears.

With that, Leonardo turned to leave, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. When he turned around, April enveloped him in a bear hug and squeezed him so hard he wasn't sure she would let him go.

"Please be safe," she said into his shoulder, her voice crackling with tears.

She felt Leo nod, then he was pulling away, slipping from her arms and into the dark night. April stood for a few minutes like that, the laughter from the festivities and Leo's grave warning mixing in her head. She eventually pulled her gaze from the window, only to focus on the birthday banner.

_Happy 17__th__ Birthday._

A bitter laugh erupted from deep within her, making her throat raw with what she tried to convince herself weren't tears. She walked over to the couch and curled up in the corner where Michelangelo had sat not five minutes ago, still warm and covered in cheese dust. April pulled down the woolen blanket form where it hung on the back of the couch and draped it over herself, looking out the window through the small gap in the curtains. Even in the dark, she could see the rain that was falling, trickling down the window in trails of gold, illuminated by the streetlight outside.

-T-

April didn't sleep for even a moment, and the night passed without incident. She didn't see the turtles again until dawn, when they loped back to her apartment with news that made her blood run cold: The Foot clan's emblem now hung over City Hall.


	10. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_**30 years later, New York City**_

His family is broken; smashed to pieces, fragmented and scattered across the barren city scape of what was once the Big Apple. Splinter and Casey are gone, Leatherhead forgotten, and Angel is across town leading a group of rebels. April is widowed and scarred. His brothers are damaged, marked by war and burdened by loss.

Donatello's hands shake as he tries to finish the last few touches on the Tunneler. He is alone, at his request, so he can repair the Tunneler in peace. He's gone over the plan no less than three dozen times in his head, accounting for every foreseeable obstacle.

When his hands shake too hard to manipulate the wrench Donatello drops it and buries his face in his hands, sucking in quick gasps of air. This is his third anxiety attack this evening. It comes from nowhere; crushing his lungs and making him tremble all over, his head spinning with grief.

New York is a mess. His family is torn apart. They are left with one final plan, one last hope to turn things around. Even he can tell it's a long shot.

"And it's all my fault," he whispers aloud, his voice hoarse.

He tries to justify himself, to think logically that the disappearance of one turtle couldn't be the cause of an alien dictator's total takeover of one of the largest cities in the world. There is no way. And yet, Don sees the accusation in Mikey's cold blue eyes, in the tension of Raph's posture after their hug, in Leo's rough, gravelly voice. They lived through a nightmare and a half, all because he left.

Donatello hears a clang behind him and some faint voices. Finally, one pierces the air: "Donnie? How are ya doin' in there?"

It's Raph. Quickly Donatello composes himself, inhales two calming breaths and recedes into his armour, stronger than any steel and built from his own fears.

It is no time for grieving. Guilt will not consume him. He will not abandon his brothers.

Not again.


End file.
